


Pegged By Palin: A Presidential Erection Story

by picascribit



Category: Donald Trump - Fandom, Political RPF, Politics - Fandom, Presidential Election - Fandom, Real Person Fiction
Genre: 2016 US Presidential Election, Alaska State Song, Anal Sex, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Don't Read This, F/M, Humor, I'm Sorry, Lube Substitute, M/M, Mild D/s, Multi, Oral Sex, Pegging, Political Satire, Putin invokes "no homo", Sarah Palin owns a very unusual novelty dildo, Satire, Sex Toys, Strap-Ons, This has got to be the worst and most uncomfortable thing I've ever written, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Trump takes it in the ass, oh god oh god what have I done?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 20:09:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7120669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/picascribit/pseuds/picascribit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trump wants to find out if his VP pick has what it takes when it comes to "international relations". She has her own ideas.</p><p>This is a work of satire, and not meant to be taken seriously on any level. It is purely intended for catharsis during this weird and ridiculous thing we call the 2016 US Presidential Election, and maybe for the odd giggle here and there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pegged By Palin: A Presidential Erection Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pommedeplume](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pommedeplume/gifts).



The sound of spinning helicopter blades rattled the cabin's windows. Sarah Palin smiled. She was ready for this. As ready as she had ever been for anything in her whole life. 

The note had come a few weeks earlier. _We have to meet,_ it said. _Very secret. Very private. The most private. We need to discuss how to make America great again. Reply with a time and a place, care of my publicist, John Miller._ It had been signed only "D.T."

Palin had replied with the GPS coordinates of her private, remote cabin in the wilds of Alaska. It had no address, and was only reachable by helicopter or sled. The day before, she had set out with her team of Alaskan sled-bears, to make sure the cabin was in order for what might be the most important meeting of her life.

This was her moment -- the moment she had been waiting for since the day last year when Donald Trump had announced his candidacy for President of the United States of America. She had thought her moment had come eight years ago, when John McCain asked her to be his vice president. But McCain had lost to The Kenyan, and Palin had gained nothing, apart from international fame, a book deal, a TV show, and numerous speaking engagements. Now, all that was about to change.

When the knock came at the door, Palin opened it. Two men stood on the doorstep, the hoods of their heavy winter coats obscuring their faces. They stepped inside. The first man drew back his hood, revealing a face and hair that echoed the colors of the fire leaping in the grate, casting its warm glow over the cozy room, its rough wooden walls mounted with copious taxidermied animal heads and racks of legally protected firearms.

"Sarah," the Republican Nominee for President said warmly, taking her hands and kissing her on the cheek. "You look just as beautiful as ever. In fact, I was just telling a friend the other day that you may be one of the most beautiful women I've ever met. Top ten. And I don't usually say that about older women. Isn't she beautiful, Vlad?"

The other man removed his hood. It was Vladimir Putin, president of Russia.

"A very lovely woman," agreed Putin, greeting her with a kiss on both cheeks.

Palin had been expecting Trump, but not Putin. She hid her surprise under a veneer of Alaskan hospitality. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. Can I get yawl somethin' to drink?"

"I only drink pure spring water," said Trump, taking a seat on the sofa, "pumped from a secret spring that I own -- very exclusive -- and strained through the silken undergarments of beautiful blonde supermodels. None of those European models, either. 100% American."

"And I drink only the finest Russian vodka," said Putin, sitting down beside Trump, "chilled on the tundra of Siberia."

Palin suppressed a frown at their snobbery. In Russia, or Trump Tower, these men might be kings, but this was her house, and here, she was the boss. They would play by her rules.

"Well, I don't have anything like that," she told them. "In this house, we drink like Joe-the-Plumber average Americans."

She opened a cooler next to the sofa. It was filled with snow, dead fish, and several cans of cheap American beer. She passed each of the men a can, which they took with slight expressions of distaste, and cracked open one for herself. Taking a seat in an easy chair, she crossed her ankles, tilted her head back, and chugged half the can.

"Now, are you boys gonna tell me what we're all doin' here?" she said, giving the two men a shrewd look.

Trump leaned forward earnestly, beer untouched on the coffee table at his knees. "No need to beat about the bush. I mean, I already beat Jeb." He laughed at his own joke. "But that wasn't hard. He was loser. No energy. He thought he could beat me with _money_ , but look at me! Who knows money better than I do? I'm financing my own campaign! I don't need anyone else's money. His didn't do him any good, did it? Hopeless! Anyway, what was I saying?"

"You were telling this lovely lady why we are here," Putin reminded him, giving Palin a conspiratorial smile.

"Right. Exactly. Thank you, Vlad. I'm here because I think you're like me, Sarah. A maverick, isn't that right? You don't play by the rules. I like that, especially in an attractive woman. America needs more of that if it's ever going to be great again. I'd like to put you on the ticket with me, as my Vice President. But here's the thing," he continued, dropping his voice and placing a short-fingered hand on her knee. "I've heard that presidents and vice presidents need to be _diplomatic_ sometimes. I want to see how well you handle international relations. You understand me? I want to know that my VP is someone I can trust to take charge of the boring stuff that I don't want to do. The things that aren't giving speeches or making deals or signing laws. The day-to-day 'presidential' nonsense. I'm gonna delegate a lot of that stuff. That's what a smart businessman would do, and I'm a smart businessman. The smartest. Do you think you're up to the challenge, Sarah?"

Palin had been expecting this, but she still wasn't quite sure about one or two things. "Well gosh, Sir --"

"'Donald', please," he interrupted.

"Donald," she agreed. "That all sounds great. I'm just surprised that you invited someone else to our little get-together. I thought it was supposed to be a secret."

Trump picked up his unopened beer and clinked it against Putin's in a casual toast. "Under a Trump presidency, Russia will be America's greatest ally. No, not _ally_. That's not the right word. Only losers and weak countries need allies. _Partner_. That's more like it. Russia will be America's partner in greatness. Junior partner. Second greatest country in the world. Way better than Mexico or China or whatever other countries there are. And Vlad here will be _our_ partner in making that happen. What I want from you, Sarah, is to show us that you can be a good partner, but that you can also take charge and do what's best for America. You're a very attractive woman, as I was just saying. On a scale of Rosie O'Donnell to Ivanka, you're right up there. Top ten. And I do like powerful women. Do you have what it takes? What do you bring to the table that any other beautiful woman doesn't?"

Palin took another swallow of beer and set the empty can. "I think Russia will make a great partner for America. I mean, I can see it from my house! As for the rest --" she looked at the two men sitting side by side on the sofa, Putin smiling enigmatically, Trump's small hand still resting on her knee. "Lemme show you boys something. I'll just be a sec."

*

Trump leaned back on the sofa, nudging Putin in the ribs with an elbow. "Didn't I say she was a classy broad? Nice rack, too, for a woman of her age."

"Very beautiful," Putin agreed again, taking a sip of beer, and grimacing with distaste. "A fine choice for your running mate."

"That's all I really need to win this thing," Trump went on, "to have an attractive woman on my ticket. I mean, women love me. I'm probably the best candidate for women in the last fifty years, at least. I ran the Miss America pageant for twenty years. I know all about women! If they're gonna vote for a woman, who do you think they'd rather vote for? Crooked Hillary or Sexy Sarah? Women are always primping and nipping and tucking and trying to look their best. They're gonna vote for the woman they most want to be like. But really, women, men, it doesn't matter; they're all gonna vote for the hottest ticket. I mean, I'm already the best-looking candidate in this thing -- probably the best-looking presidential candidate ever -- but having a good-looking woman on the ticket with me doesn't hurt."

"Perhaps." Putin inclined his head. "But will she --"

He broke off, eyes fixed on the doorway into the cabin's other room. Trump looked up, and found himself speechless for a rare moment.

Palin leaned against the doorway, wearing nothing but army boots and a large novelty strap-on. The strap-on was orange. It was shaped like a cartoon caricature of a person. It was shaped like Donald Trump.

"Do you boys like country music?" Palin asked with a smug smile, glancing back and forth between the two drop-jawed men.

She walked over to the stereo system in the corner. The orange silicon Donald jiggled and bounced obscenely with every step. She bent over the stereo, pointing her well-shaped rear end at the two men as she pressed buttons. The sounds of Shania Twain filled the room. Palin began to dance, hips swaying from side to side. The silicon Donald danced with her, if less gracefully.

Trump suddenly felt much too warm in his cold weather gear. He tugged at the neck of his Merino wool coat. This was something he had not anticipated. Did Palin plan to use the strap-on on Putin, to demonstrate her own brand of international relations? Trump glanced sideways at Putin. The Russian President watched the dancing ex-governor intently, eyes hooded, face revealing nothing. He did not seem perturbed by the prospect.

Palin danced over to the sofa and held out her hands to the two men. "Why don't you boys slip out of those hot, uncomfortable clothes and join me? It sure is no fun dancin' all by myself."

Trump stood. Palin twined her arms around his neck, swaying close to him. The silicon Donald rubbed against his thigh, stiff and insistent; a strange sensation that Trump was not at all sure he felt comfortable with. He looked down at it warily. 

"Do you like it?" Palin purred, stroking the dildo's shiny surface suggestively. "I couldn't resist, when I saw it. C'mon, take a closer look."

"I know I said I like strong women," Trump blustered, "but I didn't come here to play games, Sarah. Not that I don't like games in the bedroom. I love them! I love it when women take charge and get on top. What man doesn't love that? It's my favorite kind of sex. Well, second favorite. Top five. But this is ridiculous. If you want to use this absurd thing on Vlad, that's one thing, but I'm not going to --"

Without warning, Palin's hand shot out, grabbing his family jewels in a vise-like grip. "You hush now," she said over his cry of dismay. "Yawl may say you like powerful women, but I'm not so sure that's true. I think maybe what you like is having control over women who seem powerful, and making them do what you want. That's all fine and good most of the time, but you came here to ask me to be your VP. The Vice President of the United States of America can't be some passive, ornamental pretty face. You hear me? Your VP needs to know how to wield power, and I aim to show you I can do just that! This is my house. We're darn well gonna play by my rules. All right?"

Trump glanced sideways to where Putin still sat on the sofa, watching the scene play out before him. He did not want the Russian president to see him hesitate, or think him a coward. Palin's eyes were fixed on his face, her jaw set. She was not playing.

"All right," Trump said gruffly. "We'll do things your way. I can take whatever you can dish out." He could negotiate his way out of the scenario once he got her hot and bothered.

A smile curled the corner of Palin's mouth. She released his golden nuggets, her hand sliding up his chest and around his neck. "Good. But if yawl decide you can't take it after all, and you want me to stop, just say, 'Madam President'."

Her fingers tightened in his luxuriant yellow hair, twisting, forcing him to his knees. She was much stronger than she looked. Trump blinked watering eyes and gritted his teeth to stop from crying out. It would do him no good to show any weakness now. 

When his vision cleared, he found himself eye-to-eye with the effigy of himself. It trembled inches from his face, waiting.

"Well?" said Palin, grinning. "Why doncha give it a little kiss?" She tugged at his hair.

Hesitantly, Trump leaned forward, pouty lips touching the smooth, orange head.

"Oh, we can do better than that!" said Palin, twisting fingers urging him on. "Open the hangar, here comes the plane!"

The slick silicon pushed past Trump's teeth, filling his mouth. He had no choice but to accept it.

"Oh, yeah! That's good!" Palin hollered, moving her hips, slowly fucking Trump's mouth. "Ain't he a good boy, Vlad?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Trump could just see Putin watching them, one hand resting lightly over the bulge in his trousers. Catching Trump's eye on him, Putin slowly and deliberately moved to unzip his pants, sliding a hand inside them.

At last, Palin released Trump. "That was good. It takes a real man to suck it up when he's told to. But this should be fun for you, too. There've gotta be some perks to bein' the leader of the free world, right? Would you like to play with some vice presidential ta-tas?" She wiggled her torso enticingly.

Trump struggled to his feet, tiny hands already reaching eagerly for the jiggling prizes.

She slapped his hands away. "Ah ah ah! Not so fast! My house, my rules, remember? I say when you can touch the goods, and I say you and Vlad are still wearing too many clothes. If you wanna feel these all-American fun-bags, you gotta undress each other first."

Trump eyed Putin. The Russian President looked him up and down, eyes coming to rest with a smirk on the bulge in Trump's trousers.

"I'm not a queer," Trump frowned. "I'm standing next to a beautiful, naked woman. Of course I'm turned on. I only like sex with beautiful, powerful women."

Putin stood up. He was shorter than Trump -- only an inch or two taller than Palin -- but there was an undeniable air of command about him, all the same. "I am powerful, but I am no woman, Mr. Soon-to-be-President. I am also not a queer. I have heard that in America, there is a saying. 'No homo'? If you say this first, then nothing which comes after is gay. So, I say to you now, _no homo_."

The Russian president reached out and began to unbutton Trump's coat, followed by his shirt, one button at a time, eyes never leaving Trump's face, smirk never leaving his lips.

"No homo," mumbled Trump uncomfortably as Putin's fingers grazed over his chest and belly. He was not convinced that just saying "no homo" was enough to make something not gay, but it did give him some measure of deniability, which was something he tried to achieve in all his dealings.

Most of Trump's discomfort was being caused by his own excitement. He had not expected to be so turned on by this scenario. Trump was usually the one to take charge during sex, and thought of himself as an extremely experienced and knowledgeable lover. He had even shared women with other men in the past, and it had been enjoyable, but he had never directly interacted with those other men during sex. This was new territory for him, just when he had thought that the presidency was the only territory left unexplored. It disturbed and excited him.

Not to be outdone, or look like a coward or a loser, Trump raised his dainty fingers to Putin's collar, and began to work the Russian President's buttons loose. Soon, the two men stood shirtless in the cabin's small living room, the warmth of the fire and the strains of Shania Twain playing over their bare skin and the mat of grizzled orange hair in the center of Trump's sagging chest.

Palin sat perched demurely on the arm of the sofa, the silicon Donald standing upright in her lap, its orange face turned toward the two men, silently judging them.

"Oh, that's just great!" said Palin, smiling with approval. "Now, how 'bout you boys give each other a little kiss? Show us what good _partners_ America and Russia are gonna be."

Trump blushed. He could not help it. He could not remember the last time he had blushed. It turned his face a ruddy bronze color. He looked down at Putin, trying not to let his uncertainty show.

The corner of Putin's mouth curled up. "In my country, it is no shame for two powerful men to kiss each other as a sign of friendship."

"No homo," Trump said again, just to be sure, as Putin placed his hands on Trump's shoulders and tilted his face up to fit their mouths together in a long, sensual kiss.

When Putin released him, Trump stood, breathless. The room seemed to have grown even warmer. He could not remember the last time Melania had kissed him like that.

"Very nice!" said Palin, clapping her hands. "That deserves a reward. C'mere."

She held her hands out to the two men, and drew them down onto the thick pile of wolf pelts that was the hearth rug.

Palin let the two men play with and suckle her breasts for a while. They were warm and heavy in Trump's hands. Not as firm as the breasts of the younger women Trump was used to, but still very nice, with large, dark nipples that hardened at a touch.

"That's enough for now," Palin told them after a few moments, pulling away, looking slightly flushed herself. "You boys still need to git those pants off. I want to see if Donald Jr. is really as 'yuuuuge' as you implied during the primaries. Let's find out, shall we?"

It was very warm beside the fire, and Trump told himself that was why he was only too happy to remove his trousers, followed, with only a second's hesitation, by his fine silk boxer shorts. He felt he had nothing to be ashamed of, in the dick department. After all, he had four children, and most people only had one or two. That must mean his equipment was above average. Anyway, it was Trump equipment, which automatically made it better than most. The women he had been with usually had totally genuine and very loud orgasms the second he put it in them, with hardly any of that tiresome foreplay at all. His penis was a winner, just like the rest of him. It stood up, proud and orange in the firelight.

Palin did not seem suitably impressed, however. "Hmmm, not bad," she said, turning away after only a moment's inspection. "Now let's see Little Vlad."

Trump was disappointed again when "Little Vlad" turned out to have similar dimensions to his own, with the notable addition of a foreskin.

"Oh it looks just like a little turtle!" Palin exclaimed with delight.

"In Russia, we do not cut our sons' genitals," said Putin with an expression of mild distaste. "We think such practices are barbaric."

Trump was about to say that he preferred his own neatly-trimmed appearance, when Palin took back control of the scene, rising to her knees so that the orange silicon monstrosity jutted in front of Trump's face again, driving all other thoughts from his mind, and reminding him and Putin who had the biggest dick in the room just at the moment.

"Here's what we're gonna do now," said Palin. She looked at Trump. "I'm gonna show you what a powerful woman can do." She turned her gaze to Putin. "And I'm gonna show you that America can share." She turned back to Trump with a grin. "And you're gonna show the president of America's greatest partner what a good partner _you_ can be. Now, git on yer hands and knees."

Trump could not help a horrified glance at the silicon Donald. It was eight or nine inches long, and fairly thick. He noticed that the cartoon replica of himself also had an erection, currently pointing towards the floor, jutting out from its midsection. His flabby buttocks clenched involuntarily.

"There's nothin' to be afraid of," Palin smirked.

"I never said I was afraid --"

Trump felt a hand on his bare knee, and gave a slight start.

"Have you ever tried it before?" Putin asked, low and sultry, tilting his head in inquiry.

"Well," blustered Trump, "I've tried a lot of things. A lot of things with a lot of different people. Women. Beautiful, classy women! There are dozens of women who could tell you about all the things I've done. I mean, I have four children! That I know of. And I've done some of the kinky stuff too. Lots of it. I didn't care for all of it, of course, but I tried it. Because that's what winners do: they try things. And they succeed. As I said, I've succeeded with a lot of women. So many women. The most women! I could tell you -- this one woman, she did this thing with --"

"But have you done this thing before, Mr. Soon-to-be-President?" pressed Putin, cutting him off, eyes flicking to Palin's strap-on. "Been penetrated in the anus?"

"Well -- no," Trump admitted.

"I think you will like it," said Putin. "If Mrs. Sarah does it well. It can be most enjoyable."

"Don't you worry, cupcake! I'll take care of you," Palin assured him, patting his jowl. "Me and Todd do it all the time. Believe me, I know my way around an asshole!"

Trump swallowed heavily, tearing his eyes away from the glistening orange likeness of himself to look at Putin instead. " _You've_ done it before?"

Putin smiled smugly. "Many times. Both giving and receiving, with men and with women. If done correctly, it is very pleasant."

"I thought you said you weren't a queer," frowned Trump, suspicious.

Putin laughed. "How small-minded you Americans are! One does not need to be queer to have sexual enjoyment of other men. Touch can feel good, no matter who does it." To demonstrate, he reached out a finger to trace the trail of hair below Trump's navel. Trump shivered involuntarily. "On cold nights in the KGB, at times it was the only means we had to keep us warm. A moment's pleasure is not the same as the perversion of two men or two women playing at love and marriage for all the world to see. Some of the most expert lovers I have known were men. It was only sex. In matters of love, I, and all right-thinking men, care only for women. And as you say, it is a beautiful woman who will do you this honor, and not a man at all."

"C'mon, Mr. President," purred Palin, leaning close to his ear and reaching a hand down to caress his half-hard dick. "Vlad and me'll make it worth your while. And I plan to have a little Donald in me before the night is over. Fair's fair. Ain't that how diplomacy works?"

Trump was stuck. He could, he supposed, tell them they were a couple of perverts, and nothing was going up his Trumphole as long as he had anything to say about it. He could get into his helicopter and leave them to whatever perversion they cared to indulge in. That was fine. He wasn't one to judge. But he did not want to look weak or cowardly in front of Putin. His foreign policy plans, such as they were, hinged heavily on having a good relationship with Russia, and now it seemed that there was only one way to get there: up his own ass.

"Well, of course I always meant to try it," Trump lied. "Melania's been after me to give it a try for a couple of years now. In fact, I'm planning on having a special one of those things made for her for her birthday." He nodded at the silicon monstrosity jutting out of Palin's crotch. "Not like that, of course. Something really classy. Solid gold, in fact. I was just telling a friend of mine the other day that a real man can take a pounding in the boardroom or the bedroom, and always gives as good as he gets. And I'm definitely a real man. The manliest. I'm not afraid of a little thing like that. It's nothing, that's what it is. Only losers aren't open to trying new things. In fact, I was going to suggest something like this myself, if you hadn't brought it up first."

Palin and Putin exchanged a smirk, as if they did not entirely believe that this had all been Trump's plan from the start.

"Such a gift for your wife," said Putin. "Your tastes are indeed meretricious."

"Thank you," said Trump, puffing up a little at the compliment.

"Well then, Mr. President," said Palin, "It's time for you to get on your hands and knees and do your duty for your country. I'm gonna caucus for you, and you're gonna take it like a man, arencha?"

She planted the heel of her hand between his shoulder blades shoving him forward. He caught himself, tiny hands disappearing into the thick fur of the wolf pelt rug. He could feel the radiant heat of the fire warming his bare buttocks. But more than that, he could feel Palin behind him, staring him straight in the nether eye. He felt exposed, and much more vulnerable than he could remember feeling in a very long time. He also felt strangely excited. When he heard the familiar crinkle of a condom wrapper being torn open, his own dick gave an involuntary twitch.

*

"You will need a lubricant," Putin pointed out, as he and Palin considered the rear aspect of Trump. "He will not enjoy it if you take him dry."

"We don't use any of those pansy-ass store-bought lubes in my house," Palin scoffed. "Only homos use that stuff."

Trump started to say something, but Palin slapped him on the ass in warning, setting his flabby buttocks jiggling, and he closed his mouth. 

"Not a word from you unless I ask you a direct question," said Palin. "And you will address me as 'Vice President Sarah', is that clear?"

"Yes, Vice President Sarah."

She was enjoying being in control of this scenario. She wanted to see how well this man who proposed to become the next President of the United States would handle the less enjoyable aspects of the office. He could not delegate all his responsibilities to her, she reasoned.

"As for lube, around here we only use 100% pure Alaskan crude oil. Best stuff there is, and all-American! Go fetch the jar on the mantle, woncha Vlad?"

The Russian president stood and retrieved the jar, handing it to her. She twisted off the lid and dipped two fingers into the thick, black, sludgy substance. As Putin looked on, Palin ran one well-coated finger down the crack of Trump's ass. He tensed slightly when she touched his shriveled pucker. Palin massaged it, humming the first verse of the Alaska State song softly, under her breath.

"Eight stars of gold on a field of blue,  
_Alaska's flag, may it mean to you,_  
_The blue of the sea, the evening sky,_  
_The mountain lakes and the flowers nearby..."_

She knew from experience that the length of the verse was usually how long it took her husband Todd to be ready to get down to business. Todd enjoyed hearing her sing the song out loud during their love-play, but she did not think the present company would appreciate it properly.

  
_"The gold of the early sourdough's dreams,_  
_The precious gold of the hills and streams,_  
_The brilliant stars in the northern sky,_  
_The 'Bear', the 'Dipper', and shining high..."_

The humming seemed to soothed Trump. She could feel his sphincter muscles relaxing under her touch. In a moment, she judged, he would be ready.

_"The great North Star with its steady light,_  
_O'er land and sea a beacon bright,_  
_Alaska's flag to Alaskans dear,_  
_The simple flag of a last frontier!"_

As the last note died away, Palin pushed a slippery finger into Trump's virgin hole. Trump gasped, muscles tightening, but as she worked her finger in and out, he began to relax again. 

"That's it," she said, encouraging. "That's the American way."

She looked at Putin who was watching them intently, stroking himself. He seemed to be enjoying the scene.

"We all know Donald likes to have something to do with his mouth," Palin told him. "Why doncha see if you can keep him occupied on that end?"

"Now, I'm not sure --" Trump began.

Palin crooked her finger and tugged at his hole, making him yelp.

"Didn't I say no talking?" she demanded. "You don't want me to put a boot in your ass, instead of a dick, do you?"

"No," grumbled Trump.

"What was that?" said Palin. "I didn't quite hear you."

"No, Vice President Sarah," Trump said, a little louder.

"That's better," she said, patting his ass with her free hand.

Putin knelt before Trump, hard cock inches from his face. He cupped a hand under Trump's chin, drawing him closer.

"Come," he said. "Give a nice greeting to Volodya. He wishes to be friends."

When Trump seemed to hesitate, Palin slapped him on the ass again. "Pucker up, cupcake! Partners, remember?"

Trump closed his eyes, pursed his pale, pouty lips, and inclined his head forward a fraction of an inch to give "Volodya" a light peck on the tip.

Putin's hand circled the back of Trump's neck, fingers threading through the luxuriant yellow hair, so that Trump looked up into his eyes.

"I believe you can do better than this, Mr. President," he said.

Just then, Palin slid a second finger coated in crude oil into Trump's hole, curving the two fingers to find his prostate. When Trump opened his mouth in a moan, Volodya was there, pressing against his lips, seeking greater familiarity with the presidential candidate's silver tongue.

Palin watched, pleased, as Trump's shoulders stiffened and then relaxed, accepting the intrusions at both ends of his body. Putin gave Palin a wink, and she grinned at him.

"I think we're good to go here," she said, withdrawing her fingers.

She reached into the jar of sloppy crude oil again, scooping out more this time, then ran her grimy, oily hand over the latex-covered silicon Donald.*

"Are you ready to fuck yourself, Mr. President?" she asked, positioning herself behind him, excited, expectant. She wondered whether this would be the first time one future president had fucked another future president in the ass.

Putin released Trump's mouth so he could answer. "Yes, Vice President Sarah," he said without much enthusiasm.

"I'm not gonna hurt ya," she assured him, patting his bottom. "We're just gonna have some fun."

She pressed the tip of the black-smeared novelty dildo against his hole, steadying them both with her hands on his hips. A little more pressure, and then, with a wet popping sound, the orange head of the silicon Donald disappeared inside Trump's ass, stretching him wide.

Trump gave an involuntary exclamation. Palin waited for him to relax again before easing the full nine inches of the dildo into him. There was another small _pop_ when the effigy's own jutting erection entered him. Palin rocked her hips forward so that Trump could feel that erection pressing and rubbing against his prostate. He moaned again, and Palin knew they were good to go.

"It's like your Russian nesting dolls, eh?" she said to Putin, grinning. "One Trump inside another."

"Just so," said Putin, guiding Volodya back to Trump's waiting lips.

Trump now seemed determined to prove himself equal to the task he had been set. More than equal, he would probably say. Now that he was doing it, Palin was certain that he would want to be the best at sucking cock while taking it in the ass. Perhaps he was even enjoying the challenge. As she began to move in and out, he thrust back against her, buttocks and thighs wobbling with each sharp movement.

Palin was enjoying herself, too. The base of the strap-on rubbed between her lips, where she was quickly generating her own Alaskan crude oil. When she moaned, running a hand over her tingling breasts, Putin caught her eye.

She held his gaze and leaned in. Trump's furry back lay between them like the Bering Strait as Palin beckoning Putin closer. Russia and Alaska met, their mouths melding in a sensual kiss as his hands caressed her breasts, thumbs circling the wide, brown nipples.

As they moved together, Palin could feel the tension building; not only between her own legs, but in Putin's panting breaths as he fucked Trump's mendacious mouth, and in Trump's increasingly frantic thrusts, and the sweat that glistened orangely on his back in the firelight.

At last, Putin groaned, muttering a Slavic oath against her mouth as he thrust deep into Trump's, come spurting onto the presidential candidate's tongue and dripping from his lips onto the wolf pelt rug. Trump coughed and gagged as Putin pulled his cock free, but ultimately swallowed, gasping and panting. 

"That was done very well," murmured Putin, stroking the sweat-soaked hair at the nape of Trump's neck. "Perhaps soon you will have your turn, if Mrs. Sarah is agreeable."

"Well, I did say it would be worth his while, didn't I?" Palin panted, slowing her own thrusts. "Here, why doncha kneel up, so our partner can see to Donald Jr."

Trump obeyed, too far gone in lust to object to any order or action that might result in climax. Palin's breasts pressed against his back, and her arms circled his waist, steadying him, as Putin got on his hands and knees in front of him.

The Russian President had no compunction about blowing another man, it seemed. He eagerly took Trump's reddish-orange erection in his mouth, and began to suck at it noisily, and with obvious enjoyment.

Trump moaned, thrusting back and forth between Putin's busy mouth and the thick silicon dildo. Palin could hear him muttering under his breath. " _... build a wall ... smartest ... I know all about ... winning ... Ivanka ... the BEST!_ "

He shouted the last word, climax shuddering through his thick, orange body.

As Trump sagged into post-orgasmic bliss, Putin caught him in his arms, lowering him onto the wolf pelt rug, as Palin eased the dildo out of his raw, red, oil-smeared asshole with a slobbery sucking sound. She whipped the spent condom off the orange toy and flung it into the fire, where it vanished with a hissing pop and a brief whiff of burning latex, then she began to unbuckle the strap-on harness.

"I know you said you wanted a little Donald in you," Trump panted from where he lay, still in Putin's arms, "but it might be a few minutes before I'm ready to go again. I hate to make a classy broad wait, but --"

"Doncha worry about me, cupcake," Palin said as she extracted the dildo from its harness, brandishing it at him. "If you think the Vice President of the United States can't take care of business on her own, you got another think coming. I got all the Donald I need right here!"

She lay back on the pile of wolf pelts, spread her legs wide, and plunged the silicon Donald deep into her dripping wet opening, moaning and working her clit with oil-smeared fingers.

"Oh _yeah_ , Donald! Fuck me! Fuck me like I'm the American people!" she hollered.

When she was done, the three of them lay sprawled and content in the glow of the fire's embers, Trump and Putin idly playing with Palin's nipples.

"The next eight years are gonna be _amazing_ ," Palin sighed dreamily.

"If my plans with Vlad work out," said Trump, "and my plans usually do, because I'm a winner, we'll be looking at a whole lot more than just eight years. How does Vice President for life sound?"

He and Putin exchanged knowing smiles and high-fived one another as Palin grinned.

"This is just the beginning of making America the greatest it's ever been!"

**Author's Note:**

> * Please note that oil-based lubricants are not latex-safe, and can compromise the protection of a condom. Also, I'm pretty sure crude oil is not body-safe. I wouldn't want anyone to think I was advocating anything unsafe or unhealthy here. This is a work of fiction. None of this is happening in real life. Probably.
> 
> Wow! This story got recced in [an article about Trump-based "erotica"](https://www.yourtango.com/2016291500/5-excerpts-donald-trump-sex-stories-online-right-now). I'm ... honored?


End file.
